


To Hate Like This Is To Be Happy Forever

by orphan_account



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Gen, Hockey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 07:59:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2805323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dex loves Samwell. He also hates his D partner, but that's less of a problem than you might expect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Hate Like This Is To Be Happy Forever

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sophie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sophie/gifts).



[Warning: Uh, hockey player-typical levels of profanity? No slurs, though.]

 

Dex loved Samwell much more than he'd ever thought he would. It was a little scary how much the school meant to him.

He also hated his D partner, but that was less of a problem than you might expect. At least Nursey could skate, and paid attention to the coaches’ system. And Dex had been playing with all kinds of entitled fuckwits ever since he was good enough to make double-A, so it was no big deal.

Not until that stupid bet about superstitions. 

*

Nursey liked Samwell, but then he’d figured out it was gonna be a chill place as soon as he met Shitty there. 

He was pretty sure his D partner hated him, though, which was a problem. No-one had ever hated him before, or at least they hadn't made it so clear to him that they did. Nursey knew he was a good bro; he was used to being liked. Dex obviously had some major class issues - not surprising - but he seemed to be able to get past them when it came to Shitty, another Andover kid whose family was just as rich as Nursey's. Maybe Dex was just jelly. Nursey did have some pretty sick moves, after all.

It was the bet that really seemed to set him off, though.

*

Like most disasters, it started with an innocent question. Dex was just curious about Chowder’s weird puck phobia; it wasn't like the kid was scared of them on the ice. Over team breakfast, he tried to come up with a hypothetical reason Chowder might actually want to be around one. “Wouldn’t you keep a special one, like if you got a shutout?” 

Nursey reflexively knocked on the wooden table. “Careful there, bro.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Dex didn’t have any patience for people who thought using a certain word would jinx something. If it was going to happen, it would happen no matter what words came out of some idiot’s mouth. 

“Hey, you’ve gotta respect the jinx,” Nursey insisted. Chowder nodded solemnly.

Dex couldn’t allow that innocent child’s mind to be warped even further. “There’s no such thing.”

“I thought all hockey players were superstitious,” Bitty put in. He’d been playing with his phone; Dex hadn’t even realized he was listening to the conversation.

"I don't have any superstitions." Dex couldn’t roll his eyes any harder without losing one of them.

“Bullshit,” Nursey snorted. “I bet you have at least one.”

“Yeah, like eight at least,” Chowder echoed, grinning around a mouthful of pancake that was frankly disgusting. (Seriously, the kid ought to eat more protein. Someone needed to talk to him about nutrition.) 

“That’s a bet you’d lose.” And somehow, before Dex knew how it happened, he was shaking hands on it with Nursey. Shit.

“Wait, what do we get if we win”? Chowder asked.

“ _When_ we win,” Nursey smirked.

“Not gonna happen. I told you, I don’t have any superstitions,” Dex repeated.

"What do you call that thing in your bag, the ball of tape you keep adding to?" Bitty asked.

"It's a tape ball.” Dex barely kept himself from adding “duh.” Sometimes he forgot that Bitty hadn’t grown up around hockey, since the little dude didn't play like someone who hadn’t picked up a stick until his mid-teens. “I don't count on it for luck or anything. It's just for fun, to see how big it gets each season. One year it was basketball-sized.”

“Yeah, but you always add to it after every game. Sounds like a ritual to me, which is mostly what superstitions are. Right?”

Dex had always thought Bitty was a good guy, but now he was starting to see the little shit-disturber in a whole new light. Fortunately, his last comment launched Shitty into an egg-spraying debate with Lardo on whether there were any gender-specific coming of age rituals in White North American society. Dex was able to grab his plate and escape before Chowder and Nursey could hash out what the stakes were.

*

So Dex had been getting along fine with Nursey until then, he swore, even if it was mostly by ignoring him. But after the stupid “bet,” Nursey watched him, like, all the time. Dex got paranoid about doing anything the same from one game day to the next, in case Nursey declared it a superstition and said he’d lost the bet. It got so ridiculous he couldn’t even eat his favourite food any more. (“Look, it’s not a superstition, half the fucking NHL eats chicken and pasta for a game-day meal!”)

And even though he’d been the one to pit Dex and Nursey against each other in this wack competition, Chowder took it into his head that they needed to be best buddies. Worse, some of the upperclassmen agreed with him -- Bitty in particular, who was like the RA or den mother or something for the whole team. (Who the hell baked pies for recruiting purposes? Though Dex had to admit, making that pecan one for Thanksgiving had been kind of fun.)

So if Dex ended up killing Nursey before the end of the season, he was going to tell the judge it was all because of Chowder and his sunshine and lollipops, goalie fantasy-world belief that his d-men had to be friends or else. 

*

Dex walked into the kitchen at the Haus and immediately realized he’d been caught with his head down. Bittle was rolling out pie crust on the counter, meaning he had his favourite weapon in hand, and Shitty and Lardo were sitting at the table with a sixpack in front of them so they wouldn’t have to get up for another beer. They were planning some kind of intervention. 

Dex tried to glide backwards through the doorway, but it was too late. Bitty looked over his shoulder while he kept on rolling out dough in quick, assured strokes. "So, how's my little frog? Making friends on the team?" 

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Dex mumbled, stalling for time.

“Man, Bitty, you are way less subtle than you think.” Shitty rolled his eyes. "Just spill, dude. What's your problem with Nursey?" 

Dex sighed and kicked out a chair to sit down. If this was gonna take a while, he might as well be comfortable. "I don't like him. So what?” He shrugged, trying to give off a “chill” vibe like that asshole was always telling him to. “There's no rule you've gotta like every single one of your teammates."

Shitty slid him a beer across the table. “I don’t care, dude, but Chowder does. He thinks it's, like, preventing you two from having the perfect D-pair bond you ought to have. And that sweet little ball of neuroses does seem to have a good eye for people, not just pucks."

"I can't believe you're taking Chowder that seriously. You're talking about a kid who's still in braces and freaks out when he sees a puck in his room," Dex muttered. He picked at the label of his Natty Light. 

"Yeah, and when I find out who did that they'll hear about it.” Lardo’s glare was _Evil Dead_ -levels of frightening. Dex shivered and was glad he honestly did not know who was responsible for that.

“Well, I know you two got off on the wrong foot, but Nursey’s actually a good guy. I hope you’ll give him another chance.” Bitty’s drawl was never sweeter than when he was disappointed in someone. 

Fuck. Dex groaned and buried his head in his arms. “Fine. I’ll try, I guess.” It felt like someone ruffled his hair, but Lardo would never do such a thing. Must’ve been Shitty.

*

Despite Bitty's puzzled attitude, it was no mystery why Dex hated Nursey. He’d totally cop to having a chip on his shoulder. Nursey was a total trust fund baby, probably born with a silver mouthguard, who went to Samwell because he felt like it. No doubt it was just one out of a long list of schools he could have gone to. Samwell was Dex's only choice because it was the only school that offered him even a half-ride scholarship, which made it just barely affordable if he spent every minute of the summer from dawn to dusk on his uncle's boat hauling lobster traps. 

No-one else in Dex’s family had ever been to college. He was the first Poindexter in higher education, which he knew would be tough, but he wasn’t expecting all these unspoken rules and customs and in-jokes that he just didn't get. He hated feeling stupid, so he spent most of his time in the library or his dorm room studying, trying to keep up although it felt like he was on an underwater treadmill. 

So look at Nursey, who did jack shit for class because he didn't have to worry about keeping his scholarship. Who probably played on travel teams starting in Mites - never used hand-me-down shoulder pads already reeking of old sweat before you ever put them on - didn't have to wear a pair of skates until he couldn't possibly crush his toes into them any longer--

Dex forced himself to take a deep breath. He couldn’t let Nursey get to him. The guy was just another Masshole.

*

And then things escalated. Dex’s tape ball disappeared before the next practice.

He was digging through his bag looking for stick wax, and by the time he found it, his fingertips hadn’t brushed against the ball crammed somewhere in the corner like usual.

No biggie. Hockey bags were like super-sized junk drawers; shit got mislaid all the time. He started out looking for it methodically, sweeping his hands across the bottom of the bag. After three tries, he turned the whole thing over, dumping it out and sending hockey equipment bouncing across the dressing room floor like spilled rice. 

Still no tape ball.

Dex lifted his head and glared at Nursey. “Very funny. I want it back by gametime tomorrow.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, bro.” Nursey smiled the ratfucking smile of a smug douchecanoe. “But you don’t _need_ your little tape ball, remember? Chill.”

It took Zimmermann, Holster, and Ransom to separate them and keep them apart until practice started.

*

Of course, after that, next day’s game was a shitshow. Boston University ran over them like a tank. Samwell’s forwards couldn’t get anywhere near the shooting lanes, while BU’s skated through Nursey and Dex like they were kleenex. It was 3 to 1 before the end of the second and Chowder was so rattled he’d actually stopped yelling at the D, which was not a good sign.

 

Dex was trapped in the corner by a BU winger trying to shove him through the glass when it happened. The crunch of Chowder's shoulder against the post was the worst thing Dex had ever heard on the ice. The crack was so loud it carried even through the noise of the crowd screaming. 

Dex’s vision whited out for a second while he built up steam and the next thing he knew he was kneeling on the ice pounding the shit out of the fucking goon who'd just run their goalie. Someone grabbed Dex from behind and he took a swing at the guy before he realized it was his captain. Nursey hung onto Dex’s other arm, yelling in his ear. Meanwhile a linesman was holding Bitty, arms flailing, away from the BU winger with one hand. 

Whistles blew, coaches shouted, and Chowder was taken off the ice on a stretcher, flapping one hand in a weak wave at his team as they banged their sticks on the ice.

*

Dex had been kicked out of the game, so he went to the hospital. He was still in the ER waiting room with Coach Murray when Bitty texted them the final score: BU had scored twice on Leclair, the backup goalie. Zimmermann got one in the third, but at the end of the game Samwell had lost by 5 to 2 - and one goalie. The captain texted to check on Chowder too, but left with the team bus to be moral support on the way back to Samwell. 

Nursey showed up sweating and disheveled fifteen minutes after the game ended, and the three of them were the only ones left in the waiting room when Chowder was finally released. He was on the good drugs, drooling like a basset hound and slurring. “S’vere contooshun, nothin worrrse. Could’ve been dishlocated. Butleast two weeks off th’ice.” 

They drove Chowder back in Coach Murray’s car and half-carried him to his dorm room Lardo, who was just down the hall, had promised to check in on him overnight, but Dex still didn’t feel right about leaving the kid alone. He looked at Nursey, who nodded, and the two of them took turns lying on the floor for the next eight hours, listening to Chowder talk to his poster of Toskala.

*

Samwell won the next game without Dex, serving his automatic suspension for fighting, and with Leclair in goal. He threw up five times during the first intermission, but managed to hold on long enough to keep them up by one until the buzzer sounded. 

After the coaches and Zimmermann had given their “good work, boys” speeches, after everyone had smacked Leclair on the back and promised him a beer at the Haus party, Dex sagged against the wall of the locker room and closed his eyes. He felt like an old frayed lace - about to snap. He hadn’t realized how close to the edge he’d been all game. Watching was a billion times more stressful than playing.

Nursey sat down in the stall beside him. He peeled the tape off his left sock slowly in one long, spiralling strip and silently held it out to Dex. 

Dex took it and wound it up into the seed of a new tape ball - just the size of a golf ball, but it would grow.

*

So by the winter break, Dex still loved Samwell, and he still (mostly) hated his D partner. But it was like the way he hated getting up at ass o'clock for practice, or being outraced into the corner and crushed against the boards, or coaches bagskating him until his legs gave out; which was impossible to untangle from his love for carving the first arcs on to a fresh sheet of ice, or beating someone with a perfect backcheck. 

In other words, it was the kind of hate you only feel for your family.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is borrowed from a book about a US college basketball rivalry.  
> Some of the dialogue in the breakfast conversation about superstitions came directly from Bittle’s Twitter account.


End file.
